Hugs
by darkorangecat
Summary: Because I like hugs and would like to see more - here is a series of AU one-shots focused on hugs.  Mostly Jaspin  non-slash , may have others.
1. Freezing Numb

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters in this work of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

AU

* * *

He's surprised that, after a week, he's still chilly. Especially given that he just came from weather in the lower twenties and blustery snow. Shivering, he grabs his abandoned hoodie off the chaise lounge and pulls it on over his head.

Unable to shake the cold, he searches through the drawers in the hotel room, sifting through boxers and socks until he finds it, the scarf his Granny had knitted him when he was a kid. He fingers it, smiling sadly before twining it reverently around his neck.

And still, he just can't seem to get warm. Panicking just a little bit, knowing that Stone Cold is waiting, probably impatiently, in the hallway for him, he paces the room, looking for something that will take away the cold.

He sees them out of the corner of his eye and races over to the end table, snatching up the gloves that he shouldn't need in the southerly clime. He shoves them on his hands and stares at them as they continue to shake in spite of the added warmth.

"You about ready in there?" Jason sticks his head in through the door and raises an eyebrow at his protégé's choice of apparel. "Cold?" He teases, thinking Spinelli looks a little like the Michelin Man on a diet.

Spinelli shrugs and hides his blush of embarrassment beneath the black hood, sweeping past Jason on his way out the door. Though he shouldn't be, he is still freezing cold in the gut clenching, body quaking manner which is generally reserved for victims of shock.

"Spinelli?" Jason calls after him, laying a hand on his shoulder, stalling him. He can feel the spasms that, even after a week, continue to wrack his friend's thinning frame.

He'd done what he thought was best, had gotten Spinelli as far away from Port Charles as he could and given the boy his space to deal with the aftermath. He sees now that it was inadequate, Spinelli needed something more. Swallowing, squeezing Spinelli's shoulder with an almost bruising force, he turns the boy around.

"What?" Spinelli doesn't look at his mentor, staring instead at his feet. He cannot seem stop the trembling no matter how much he tells himself to man up to what he's done and wonders if Stone Cold hates him for being so weak.

"Are you okay?" Jason grasps Spinelli's chin, tilting the boy's head upward so that he can see into the hacker's eyes. Spinelli doesn't meet his gaze.

"I'm," Spinelli mumbles, "just…" he trails off, unable to finish his thought.

He takes a shaky breath, attempting to compose his thoughts into coherence and opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except for a heartrending sob. It wasn't fair. He wasn't going to cry. He couldn't cry. He had not right to cry.

His eyes glisten in the dim hall light and he wrenches his chin from Jason's grip, looking away as the first traitorous tear falls. He struggles to free himself from Jason's iron like hold on him, but Jason doesn't budge.

"It's going to be okay," Jason murmurs, pulling Spinelli close and wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Resting his chin on his grasshopper's head, he holds him close, feeling Spinelli tense slightly at the unaccustomed physical contact. Spinelli's arms remain rigidly at his side and he tries to pull away. Jason hugs him tighter, refusing to let Spinelli pull away now that the boy's finally allowing himself to come to grips with what has happened. Closing his eyes, Jason whispers words of comfort as he moves them both back into the hotel room he'd booked for Spinelli and shuts the door behind them.

"I'm sorry Spinelli." Jason rubs circles in the small of the weeping boy's back, knowing that his words are insufficient comfort and yet needing to say them. Even though they aren't what Spinelli needs, they're what he needs.

"I didn't mean it." Spinelli's voice is hoarse from crying. "I didn't mean to do it."

"I know," Jason croons, rocking him. "I know." His lips brush the top of Spinelli's head in an instinctual act of comfort, like a father allaying his son's broken heart.

"I didn't mean to kill him," Spinelli sobs into Jason's chest, his arms reaching up and around his mentor.

"I know," Jason murmurs. "It's not your fault." He squeezes Spinelli, willing the stubborn young man to believe him. Willing him to stop blaming himself.

Spinelli stills, his breath hitching as the memory replays itself in his mind.

_It was dark and windy that night. Freezing rain had turned to pelting snow. He'd stayed late at the office and had been on his way home to the penthouse when a man had stepped out from the shadows of an alley as he passed._

"_Give me what you got," the man demanded, shoving a gun in his face._

"_I…" he'd stuttered, "I don't have anything of value." He tried to back away, but the man advanced._

"_Give me that," the gestured at his laptop with the gun and lunged at him._

_They'd struggled, he …here is where the memory grows fuzzy…he pushed the man away from him, but the man kept coming, shoving the gun between them as though it were an added appendage. They fell onto the ice slicked ground, the man on top of him, the gun between them and he'd panicked. They wrestled and, as he'd told Mac, the gun went off. The roar of it was deafening and then there was silence, followed by the soft sluicing sound of snow pellets falling to the ground._

_Blood, red and slick, bright against the backdrop of the white snow, sizzled as it fell in fat droplets, melting the snow beneath them. In spite of the body heat still emanating from the dying man lying on top of him, Spinelli was freezing._

_He hadn't felt warm since that night._

"You're safe now," Jason promises as Spinelli relaxes.

"Warm," Spinelli whispers, clinging to Jason.


	2. Safe

For disclaimer, see initial chapter.

This oneshot is AU.

* * *

Jason walked into the penthouse, stretching out the kinks in his back as he placed his gun carefully in the locked box. Storing it on the top shelf in the closet, where he was certain it could not be easily retrieved by curious fingers, he looked around the living room and frowned.

It had been a long, grueling day and he had spent the past two hours thinking of nothing but getting back to his boys, making sure they were both safe and sound. He quashed down a fresh wave of panic when a quick perusal of the living room and kitchen came up empty. Closing his eyes against the brutal images which were accosting him, courtesy of the latest case he and his new partner, Dante Falconari, had been called out on, he took a deep, fortifying breath.

His hand shook slightly as he lifted it. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the pictures that continued to plague him. In the end, he and Dante had taken the perps down, but what they'd done, the sheer savagery of it, would stick with him for a long time to come, if not indefinitely. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd have nightmares for the foreseeable future.

"Spinelli!" he called up the stairs, holding his breath as he listened.

His heart stood still as he waited. Image after image, each worse than its predecessor in its viciousness, flooded his mind and he let out a choked sob, biting down hard on his lip, barely tasting the copper of blood as it filled his mouth. The pain, dull as it was, served to steady him.

The images had taken on a life of their own now, and, instead of the boys that he and Dante had been too late to save, he pictured the faces of his sons on the broken, battered bodies that had been recovered. The fact that they'd managed to take down those responsible for the reprehensible crime had mattered very little to Jason who blamed himself for the death of the boys.

If only he had acted sooner. If only he hadn't taken the time to verify the information from Dante's source. If only he had trusted his partner. If only he'd listened to his instincts, those boys would be alive.

Silence reigned in the penthouse and Jason felt his knees buckle. Bracing himself, he walked swiftly toward the stairs, pushing the terrible images of the twisted, torn bodies from his mind.

"Spinelli!" His voice hitched as he called.

The frantic beating of his heart pounded in his ears, drowning out his heavy footfalls on the stairs as he raced up them, taking two and three at a time to get to his boys and assure himself that they were still alive, that his worst nightmare had not come true. It was a fear that every police officer who'd ever taken a criminal down shared – that retribution would be taken out on his, or her, family.

"Spinelli!" He ran down the hallway, toward the room where he hoped to find his boys – a makeshift playroom that had taken shape in the former bachelor's home.

He came to an abrupt halt in the opened doorway, panting, his mouth slightly agape as he viewed the scene before him. Tears pricked his eyes as he struggled to control his breathing. Staggering, gripping the wooden frame of the door, he carefully stepped into the room.

"Daddy!" A little boy launched himself at him, wrapping thin, yet strong arms around his legs.

Jason looked down at Jake and smiled shakily. Ruffling his youngest son's hair, he looked beyond the boy and let out the breath he'd been holding as his eyes rested on a dark swatch of hair buried beneath a pile of blankets.

Spinelli, sensing some of Jason's anguish, quickly divested himself of the blankets Jake had covered him with, and stood quickly, an apology adorning his lips as he looked sheepishly at the floor. Face red with shame and fear, he stuttered as he spoke quietly, "S...sorry. J…Jake and I…we, we were playing and…"

Jason grasped the boy's chin firmly and gently forced Spinelli to look at him. Spinelli, as he'd insisted on being called, stared up into the piercing blue eyes of the man who'd taken him into his home when he'd had nowhere else to go.

He swallowed hard as he tried to process what he saw in the older man's eyes. He recognized the blatant relief, but was unable to decipher the other emotions swirling in the blue orbs.

"You're safe," Jason murmured, pulling Spinelli close, wrapping his arms around the uncertain boy, wondering what it would take for him to realize that he was loved and wanted.

"D…Dad?" Though the word was whispered, Jason heard it and he hugged his adopted son.

"Son." The word came easily, and he felt Spinelli's arms tighten around his middle.

Jake tugged at his pants leg, and Jason reached down to pull the little boy up, holding both sons close as he assured himself that both of his boys were alright, and that what he'd witnessed today had not tainted either of them.

"You okay?" Spinelli asked, pulling back slightly and looking into Jason's eyes to gauge the sincerity of the man's answer. He still found it hard to trust Jason, even after half a year of living with him.

"I will be," Jason answered honestly, not wanting to let go of either boy. Clearing his throat, he reluctantly loosened his grip on his sons. "So, what were you two up to today?"

"Playing cops and robbers," Jake readily supplied. Spinelli shrugged and let Jake explain the daunting rescue he'd been about to execute before their Dad had entered the room.

_If only_…Jason thought, listening to his sons as they told him about their day – Jake exuberantly, and with confidence, Spinelli shyly and tentatively. His sons' voices kept the horrific images at bay.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	3. Stranded

Written for LAS community's tvnetwork1. Voting is past, so okay to post.

AU; got to admit that I really enjoyed the Jaspin hug I saw on the show a couple of weeks ago. Hugs make me smile, and make me feel good too. :)

* * *

Two and a half hours later, and Spinelli was no closer to finding out how to get his Prius running. It was beginning to get dark out, and a light drizzle had long since turned into a flurry of fluffy white snowflakes. His fingers were numb from the cold, and his toes were tingling. He'd neglected, as usual, to bring a jacket fit for winter, rationalizing that he would merely be moving from his warm car to a heated building, and that, according to the calendar, it was supposed to be spring, not winter.

Having been born and raised in Tennessee, no one had informed him that his car should always be stocked with winter emergency supplies. Blankets, candles, matches, water, spare jacket, gloves, hat, scarf, and snacks high in protein.

Tennessee had winter, and even had snow, but not nearly as much as they got in Port Charles, New York. In Tennessee, the temperature rarely plummeted to below thirty degrees. In New York, however, Mother Nature was a different beast entirely. He was starting to truly appreciate just how severe and unseasonably long winters in New York were.

Hindsight being what it was, Spinelli resigned himself to his frozen fate and shook his freezing fingers. Sighing in frustration as his fingers began to smart in pain, he peered at the luminescent screen of his cellphone. It still had a full battery, but there was poor to no reception on this particular lonely stretch of tree-lined road. He berated himself for taking the scenic, rather than the more practical route to his intended destination.

A patch of black ice had sent him careening into the guardrail, and caused his car to stall. He'd followed the advice in the owner's manual and had turned his car off, but now he couldn't get it restarted and couldn't get a strong enough signal on his cell to call for help. He'd foolishly opted not to get the OnStar service for his car, and was now sorely regretting it.

Thanks to his, for once, lightning quick reflexes and fancy steering, the compact car's impact with the guardrail had been so minimal that the airbags hadn't even deployed. His head, on the other hand, had hit the driver's side window, hard, leaving him with a headache and a large bump near his temple.

He once again hit the speed dial for his default contact, Jason Morgan, aka Stone Cold. And his spirits deflated when his call failed as it had half a dozen other times. He bit his bottom lip as it began to tremble.

Tucking the phone into his pocket, he pulled at the driver's side door of his car to open it. It was now almost completely dark. He'd never make it to safety on foot with the way his head was throbbing and his vision cutting out on him. Knowing that he probably had a concussion only made his growing panic worse as he lost his grip on the door handle.

Fighting against tears, he reached for the handle again and pulled. He nearly lost his footing and had to close his eyes as a sudden dizziness overtook him. He shook his head to clear it and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea crested in his stomach.

Swallowing the bile that burned the back of his throat and nose, he lowered himself into the front seat of his car and shut the door. Though he couldn't turn on the car and use the heater, it would at least shelter him from the weather and keep him warmer than he'd be if he remained outside in the falling snow.

The wind picked up and howled as it shook the vehicle. In spite of the warmth of the car, Spinelli began to shiver.

Occasionally, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, watching in morbid fascination as his attempts to call for help failed each time. As the hours crawled by, cold crept in and settled in his bones, racking his body, stealing what little warmth he had left.

He slept fitfully. One minute, his head would be lolling to the side, pressing against the cool surface of the window and he'd experience a brief reprieve. The next minute he'd jerk awake, eyes wide in fear as he struggled to remember where he was and what had happened. When the momentary panic passed, he was left with an almost hollow feeling of resignation as he realized that, even though someone was expecting him, no one would think to look for him if he never arrived.

Stone Cold would assume that he had made it there safely, and the other party would assume that Spinelli had been ordered to go elsewhere. He was on his own. Neither party would communicate with the other. He'd have to wait out the storm and try to reach civilization in the morning.

Seven and a half hours later, and Spinelli was no closer to getting his cellphone to work. His entire body felt as if it was on fire and his head pounded in synchronization to the beat of his heart. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the window, wishing for death.

A knock - knock- knocking jolted Spinelli awake. He was cold and his body ached. He closed his eyes and drifted off only to be jerked awake as the door he was leaning against opened. Strong arms caught him before he hit the ground.

"Spinelli," a voice thick with worry broke through his stupor.

"Stone Cold?" he stammered.

"Easy there, I've got you now," Jason assured him.

Spinelli clung to his rescuer as a child to his father. "You came?" he questioned in awe.

"Yes," Jason answered simply. The word caught in his throat at Spinelli's questioning tone, as though he thought that Jason would leave him there to die. He'd have to fix that.

"I've got you," he repeated.

Exhausted, Spinelli nodded and closed his eyes. He was safe and warm in Jason's arms.


End file.
